


When the Muses [go on] Strike

by Beth H (bethbethbeth)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen, Meta, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-21
Updated: 2004-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethbethbeth/pseuds/Beth%20H
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cast your mind back before the final two books in the HP series were published and there was still a chance to avoid excessive loss of life: what if all the characters got together and just told JKR...no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Muses [go on] Strike

**Author's Note:**

> See below for full story context.

J.K. Rowling walked along the main corridor of Hogwart School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

Where was everybody?

Yes, it was past curfew, but that never seemed to stop anybody before. There were _always_ students out and about after hours. Not Hufflepuffs, of course; _they_ were always tucked up in their beds early so that they could wake with the sun and...water plants or something, but where were the Ravenclaws scuttling back to their common room after a long night of swotting in the library? Where were the Gryffindors out for a bit of harmless fun? Where were the Slytherins up to no good?

Something must be terribly wrong.

The swirl of blue and green robes rounding the corner caught her eye. Finally! Somebody who could explain why the halls were so uncharacteristically vacant.

The owner of the robes approached, with what looked like a welcoming smile on his face, but when he drew close enough to see her clearly, his smile turned into a sneer.

"Oh, it's _you_," he said disgustedly.

Rowling frowned. Why would a stranger speak to her with that tone of voice?

"Pardon me, but have we met?"

The man stared at her in open disbelief. "Have we . . . you _created_ me!"

"I'm terribly sorry, but I don't seem to recognize you. Are you certain that . . . ."

"I am Severus Snape, master of Potions at this school."

Rowling snorted in a most unladylike way. "I'm sorry, but that's quite impossible. Severus Snape would never wear anything but black robes, and in any case, you don't look . . . well . . . ."

"Freakishly hideous? Of course I don't! But . . . surely you _meant_ for your readers to understand that your novels were written from the perspective of a young innocent boy who was sadly misinformed about my true nature?"

"A young innocent boy? Now I'm _certain_ you're not Severus Snape. He'd never be so sympathetic to Harry Potter."

The man who was calling himself Snape smiled. "That's what you think. You'll find that quite a bit has changed in the past seventeen months. I bid you good evening, Ms. Rowling."

He inclined his head in a polite nod, then swept off in the direction of the dungeons.

Rowling shook her head. How could one of her own creations have become so entirely unrecognizable in so little time? It was a jolly good thing she had arrived when she did. There was no telling _what_ her characters might have got up to if left too long to their own devices.

Perhaps, Rowling thought, she should pay a visit to Harry, just to make sure everything was as it should be. She walked down the chilly corridor, but as she took her first step up the stairs that led to Gryffindor Tower, she heard the sound of childish laughter coming from the direction of the kitchens (at least . . . she thought it _must_ be the kitchens. She'd always been a bit vague about the location of rooms in this castle). Harry and his friends must have snuck out for a little late-night snack.

Now that _was_ reassuring!

Rowling tip-toed over to the kitchen doorway, then peeked inside.

There, sitting on one side of a small table and drinking hot chocolate, sat Dobby, Winky, and an unfamiliar House-Elf. All three were wearing little knit caps and were grinning broadly. Across the table from the Elves sat two witches with tea cups in their hands: Sybil Trelawney and . . . good Lord, was that Mrs. Black?

Rowling gasped, and as she did, all five turned toward her.

For a moment nobody moved, then Sybil glanced into her cup and smiled.

"Ah, yes, " she said. "I read in the tea leaves that we would soon be welcoming an unexpected guest."

Dobby leapt off his chair, his eyes wide. "Oh, Miss Jo Rowling! Dobby is honoured that you is visiting him in his kitchen! Is Miss Jo Rowling wanting a nice cup of hot chocolate? We is having _marshmallows_ tonight!"

"No . . . um . . . no thank you, Dobby. I don't . . . is that Sirius Black's mother?" Rowling whispered.

"Oh yes!" Dobby answered, nodding his head energetically. "It is Mrs. Black who brought Dobby the marshmallows."

"House-Elves _love_ marshmallows!" Winky said dreamily. "They is even better than Butterbeer!"

"Yes," Mrs. Black nodded. "I remember Kreacher here telling me that, many years ago."

"Kreacher?" Now Rowling was even more confused. This smiling, happy, hat-wearing House-Elf was Kreacher? None of this made any sense. "And you're . . . pardon me for saying so, but, well . . . you're not actually alive, you know."

Mrs. Black smiled. "Oh, yes . . . the portrait. I can see where you might have drawn the conclusion that we portrait subjects have no existence except as painted images on canvas. However, most people who aren't Mud . . . "

Sybil jabbed Mrs. Black sharply in the ribs with her elbow.

". . . Muggles know that it's simply not true. Like all fictional characters, once we've been created, we take on a life of our own, and a mere frame, no matter how solid, simply can't contain us."

Rowling started to back out the door.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a cup of tea," Mrs. Black called after her retreating form. "You look like you could use one."

No. It was simply not to be believed. These were _her_ characters. She'd brought them into existence, and for them to be willfully ignoring her plans for them, well . . . it was just unacceptable, that's all. They _had_ to do what she wanted them to do! That's how these things worked.

Ignoring the sneaking suspicion that she was beginning to sound a little too much like He Who Must Not Be Named for comfort, Rowling climbed the stairs, more determined than ever to speak to Harry. He was her protagonist. Surely he, at least, would still be recognizable as the boy she'd created.

A few minutes later, Rowling stood in front of the portrait which usually housed the Fat Lady and tried to remember the last password she'd created for the Gryffindors. She tried a dozen with no success before the Fat Lady dashed back into her own frame from a neighbouring portrait of a farmer during haying season, and - breathing heavily and picking bits of straw out of her hair - said "Oh, you can just turn the doorknob and go right on through, you know. We're all friends now. No need for silly things like passwords."

With some trepidation, Rowling stepped, unnoticed, into the Gryffindor common room, and instantly breathed a sigh of relief. The room was full of cheerful young people. She recognized Ron Weasley immediately, not only by his bright ginger hair, but also by the fact that he was playing a game of Wizard Chess with Lavender Brown. Hermione Granger was sitting, curled up on one of the leather chairs, reading a book, and Harry, was sitting on the floor with a group of youngsters who looked to be first years, teaching them how to play Exploding Snap.

Yes, it looked like everything was all right with her world, at least in Gryffindor Tower.

"Harry!" a voice called from the other side of the room. "Do you have any more of those Malteasers? You were right . . . they were pretty good."

Harry smiled. "Notice how I'm not even saying 'I told you so?'"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Yes, yes . . . I noticed."

"Excellent! In that case," Harry said as he threw a small red bag across the room, "you may have my last bag."

Six years of playing Seeker for Slytherin had honed Draco's reflexes enough so that he was able to grab the package of sweets out of the air. "Thanks! I'll have my father bring some more for us the next time he comes to visit."

Harry stopped playing for a moment and tilted his head to he side. "Um, you do know that he can only buy these in the Muggle world, right?"

"Yes," Draco said. "But Father's a Slytherin, and he's realized that it's in his own self-interest to . . . adapt."

Rowling walking into the middle of the room, her hands on her hips.

"All right, I think I've heard just about enough. I leave you people alone for seventeen months, and when I return, it's bedlam! What's a Slytherin doing in the Gryffindor common rooms? What's Lucius Malfoy doing planning trips to the Muggle world to buy Muggle sweets for his son? What's Professor Snape doing wearing blue and green robes?"

"I love what Snape's new robes do for him," Neville whispered to Ginny.

Ginny nodded. "I know! They make him look so hot!"

Rowling stared in horror at the two Gryffindors, then continued. "And what's the most malicious House-Elf in the Wizarding World doing chatting happily in the Hogwarts' kitchens?"

"Oooh!" Ron said, looking up from his game. "Kreacher's here? Did he bring marshmallows?"

"Would someone kindly explain to me _what_ in the world is going on here? Harry? Please tell me what's happening."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, well . . . we know you meant well and all . . . ."

"Speak for yourself," muttered Draco.

"...but we had to do _something_. I mean, if we didn't, more of us were going to die."

Rowling frowned. "Where did you hear that?"

Hermione held up her book. "I read it in _Hogwarts, A History_.

"But that's impossible," said Rowling. "I haven't even finished the sixth book yet."

"Oh no, it's all quite true," Hermione replied. "It's all there in black and white in the Future Appendices. You did know this was . . . a _magical_ book, didn't you?"

"Anyway," Harry said, "Ron and Hermione and I were talking about it one night, and we thought that the next to go could be _anyone_. I mean, you said you really liked Sirius and look what happened to him!"

"But that was important to the story-line. I didn't do it lightly. I _cried_ when he died."

Harry nodded. "I know, but . . . look, I don't want to be disrespectful, but these are our lives we're talking about, not yours. We decided the only way to keep anyone else from dying was if we all signed a pact not to do anything that might even _possibly_ lead to more tragedy."

Hermione nodded. "So I drafted a contract."

Ron shook his head. "Scariest contract maker in the entire Wizarding World."

"And everyone agreed to . . . .well . . . "

"Become friends," said Draco, with a slightly sick expression on his face.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. And not roam the halls at night."

"Or rush off without first thinking about what we're doing," said Harry.

"Or hold onto old prejudices," said Ron.

"But . . . but . . . what's going to happen to the rest of my book series?" Rowling said.

For a moment, nobody said a word, then the silence was broken by the distinctive sound of Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Tom Riddle singing a rather drunken chorus of "Ninety-nine bottles of Butterbeer on the Wall" down in the courtyard.

Harry stood up, and patted the stunned author on the shoulder.

"Honestly, we're all awfully sorry. I'm sure you'll come up with another book idea. Sometime."

J.K. Rowling wept.

**Author's Note:**

> So...mugglenet.com is [reporting](http://www.mugglenet.com/newsfusion/fullnews.php?id=189) that according to "someone in a position to know," _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ is going to be released early in the summer of 2005, probably June 11 or June 18. Ordinarily, I don't pay much attention to any rumors, even about publication dates, but mugglenet generally has some pretty decent spies at its disposal.
> 
> Of course, seeing this brings back all my anxieties about what's going to happen in the sixth book (read as "who's going to be bumped off in the sixth book"). I'm not one of those people who is able to willfully ignore canon, regardless of how distressing it might be (_note: if/when Snape meets his end in book 6/7, I'd appreciate it if nobody reminds me I said this, because I'll be re-writing canon so fast, it'll make the collective [severed] heads of Highlander's Clan Denial spin_), but every so often - in my more "can't distinguish fantasy from reality" moments - I think, "You know, I'll bet the _characters_ are even more worried than I am." After all, JKR has _said_ that more characters are going to die before the series ends.
> 
> But what if all the characters got together and just said...no. After all, Rowling hasn't finished writing the last two books yet; surely those Fictional Character Self-Preservation Instincts (tm) must be kicking into high gear right about now...


End file.
